The First Year
by Noellie723
Summary: Éponine has decided to write to Enjolras for the first year she has to spend without him. Warning: death and attempted suicide
1. January 29

29th January

Dear Enjolras,

It doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem like you're gone. It doesn't seem like your actually dead. I couldn't stop crying yesterday when the doctors pronounced you dead. I wonder if you know how you died, or if you just woke up and realized you were in heaven. You probably won't ever read this but I'll inform you on the tragedy anyway.

Yesterday, we were at a protest. We were in front of Palais Bourbon when things got out of hand. The protest soon turned into a riot and before any of us could do anything, someone started firing a gun. You shielded me from the attacker. You took a bullet for me and I want you to know that I would've done the same.

I guess the reason why I'm righting is because Jean Prouvaire and the rest of Les Amis thought it would be a good way to cope with my emotions. I thought it was ridiculous. But here I am, sobbing on the kitchen floor while I write to you. I'm also writing this because I'm actually a little scared that if I don't write to you, I'd probably become a hollow shell of my former self. I wouldn't dare tell Les Amis that I'm scared. They'd never leave me alone if I told them that. But I'm going to tell you things that I wouldn't tell anyone. This is because I love you. And you're dead.

It feels empty in my flat. The couch seems lonelier without you. I'd invite Les Amis over but they'd look at me with worry in their eyes. I don't want that. I can handle myself. I remember you would yell at me whenever I would say that and all I would do was smile. It frustrated you like crazy because you thought I wasn't taking you seriously. I was taking you seriously, honest, but it made me happy to know you cared and that you wanted to help me handle all the shit that happens in life.

I just wish you were here to help me with all this shit happening right now.

Love Always,

Éponine


	2. February 5

**A/N: did I mention that this was a modern au? Well, if you don't like modern au's, sorry to burst your bubble :]**

February 5th

Dear Enjolras,

I just got back from your funeral. You didn't look like...you. You looked lifeless, but I guess that's because you are. I tried not to cry at your funeral because you hate when I cry, but it couldn't be helped. I miss you so much. Les Amis try to keep an eye on me because they think that if I start to miss you too much, I might follow you. Once again, I thought that idea was ridiculous, but looking at it objectively, they're right.

They even had a talk with me about it last week. Seemed more like an intervention, though.

"Éponine," Combeferre started. The whole gang was sitting in my front room. "come sit down,"

I obliged. "What's this all about?"

"We know that everything has been tough on you lately,"

"And?" I was a bit irritated. They were looking at me as if I were a helpless child.

"We decided," Joly cut in. "that it would be best if we all took turns looking after you,"

"I don't need anyone 'looking after' me. I'm a grown woman for goodness sake,"

"We know, Ép," Feuilly said.

"We just want to make sure you're okay," Courfeyrac added.

"Please, Éponine?" Combeferre asked. I guess now that you're gone, Combeferre has been leading the group. He's been doing his best to keep everything together.

"Fine," I reluctantly agreed.

Earlier today, before your funeral, was especially hard on me. Luckily for me, Grantaire was 'in charge' which I usually don't mind because he lets me drink as much beer as I want. I was standing in the kitchen while R was watching tv or something. I was already ready but the funeral didn't start for another hour, so I started doing the dishes.

I started to feel so angry. I was angry at R for just sitting around. I was angry at Les Amis for always having someone in my flat. I was even angry at you for getting yourself shot. And then I felt anger boiling inside because I was the one who beg to go with you to the protest. If I wasn't there, you wouldn't have had to protect me from those damn bullets. I bursted into tears and smashed a plate onto the floor. Then another. And by the time R got into the kitchen, I had already broken some cups too.

"Éponine! What the hell?" R yelled, a bit drunk.

"It's all my fucking fault!" I yelled back, tears streaming down my face. "It's because of me that Enjolras is dead! Because I don't know how to stay the fuck home! Right? Aren't I right? I mean, that's the reason why you guys keep my at home! So I don't get one of you killed!"

"Éponine," R said quietly.

"What?! Are you scared little 'Ponine will burst?!" I felt a strange sarcastic smile pull at the corners of my mouth while I yelled. "I'm fucking sick and tired of everyone thinking they know what's best! You and the rest of those bastards parading around my flat like I have no power over myself, like I'm nothing without Enjolras. Well you know what?! I was fine without Enjolras before, and I'll be fine now!" _I'll be fine now_. I had said it more to assure me than to prove a point R.

I stopped yelling, realizing what had just happened. I stooped down to pick up the shattered ceramics. "Damn it, I'll have to by new dishes,"

"Éponine, get a broom,"

"No, no. I can do it,"

"You'll cut yourself. Now get up," I obliged. "Tell me, what that all was about. Are angry at Les Amis for trying to look out for you? Are you saying that you never loved Enjolras, 'cause that's what I'm hearing,"

"I didn't mean it,"

"Then what did you mean?"

"Well I don't want to talk about it," I muttered as I left the kitchen to fix my make up.

"You'll have to eventually!" R shouted to me. He was right. I did need to talk about this. I just needed...time, I guess.

It was times like these where I wish you would hold me close and make the outside world disappear.

Love Always,

Éponine


	3. February 14

February 14th

Dear Enjolras,

Happy valentines day! I'm sitting in the bathtub right now. There's no water or anything and I promised Feuilly that I wasn't going to do "anything stupid". It's just, the house feels extremely lonesome today, even with company, whereas the bathroom doesn't because one is usually alone in a bathroom anyway.

Do you remember our first valentines day? We made fun of tourists. Looking back on it, it was sort of cruel but it was fun and we were only 18. Can you believe we dated for almost five years? I wonder if we would've been together for the rest of our lives. Well, we were for the rest of _your_ life, I guess.

It's 3 in the afternoon. I'm a bit worried about what will happen later on in the day. I worry that I'll start to miss you too much and things will get out of hand. But honestly, if things were to get out of hand, it'd be a sweet release, wouldn't it? No, I can't think like that. I have siblings to look after, even if they haven't visited in months. Gavroche is 15 now. He doesn't go to class very often and I'm surprised he hasn't been expelled for truancy. Azelma is turning 21 in a couple of months and honestly, she hasn't talked to me much and I have no idea what's going on in her life. I remember when she used to look up to me. Like how R and Combeferre and, really, everyone else in the group looked up to you. You were their fearless leader, you know.

I just left the bathroom because sitting in the bathtub makes my back hurt like hell. Feuilly is asleep on the couch. I left him a note telling him I was going to the park.

I'm at the park now. There are couples out who look so happy. We used to be one of those couples. I know that sitting on a bench and watching happy couples is like poison but I can't help it. I just want things to be back to normal. I want you back. I want to see you smile when I look at you. I want to feel you hold me when we watch old movies. I want to see you get those lines on your forehead when you concentrate. I want to hear you laugh at the stupid jokes Les Amis and I tell. I want to smell your aftershave when you hug me. I want to taste your lips when our kisses linger. But sometimes we don't get what we want. Sometimes we have to fucking deal with it. But I'm tired. I just want this all to be over. I just want to forget the best years of my life I spent with you because it'll be better than having to go through the rest of my life knowing I'll never get you back.

Love Always,

Éponine

A/N: I know these are short but they will be plentiful. :] thanks for reading you lovely people 3


	4. April 10

April 10th

Dear Enjolras,

Les Amis finally quit the staying-with-Éponine regimen a month ago, but Jean Prouvaire didn't want me to be completely on my own. So he bought me a cat. I haven't named him because Holly Golightly didn't name her cat. Holly said that she didn't name her cat because she felt she didn't have the right to name it because they didn't belong to each other. Technically he's not my cat, he's Prouvaire's, so the cat shall remain nameless.

He's such a stupid cat. He swats at my ankles, bites the armholes of my knit sweaters and takes naps in the bathroom sink. But he's not that bad. Yes, he's stupid, but sometimes it's a cute stupid. Like you. Not that you take naps in the bathroom sink but I can't help but think of you when I'm not hating the cat.

Because I haven't seen Les Amis in a month, I haven't really talked to anyone. And because I haven't talked to anyone, I haven't told anyone that sometimes I deny that you're dead. Sometimes when I wake up, I tell myself that you aren't dead and you're just in the kitchen brewing coffee. But then I go to the kitchen and, of course, you're not there. You'll never be there. And I'm scared that I'll never stop denying. Never stop crying when I remember everything that happened. Do you even know what that feels like? Having memories you try to suppress rush back all at once? It feels like you've been hit by a damn truck. It feels like you've suddenly been pulled underwater. And right now, I'm struggling to breathe.

The cat is sitting on my belly right now. I hope he doesnt try to bite my pen because I'll mess up the letter. He's biting the bottom of my sleeve again, but I don't mind. The stupid cat is starting to grow on me.

I know this is kind of obvious, but I miss you. I haven't been sleeping well because I've been having nightmares and you aren't there to comfort me. I haven't looked in a mirror in awhile because I'm scared to look at how much I've withered away. It's usually the same nightmare. When you got shot. They're usually quiet except for your voice telling me everything would be okay. This is probably because the day of your death, I couldn't hear anything except you.

Damn it! The stupid cat bit me.

Anyway, I miss you. I wake up in the middle of the night, already crying. I don't like this feeling, babe. I don't like feeling helpless. I wish you were here to hold me because I'm violently shaking. I'm trying so hard not to burst into tears and pull my hair. I need you to help me. I don't know what else to do.

I have to stop writing. I need to stop thinking about you because it's ruining me. But at the same time, I have to remind myself that you're gone because not remembering is also ruining me. I'm losing myself in all of this and honestly, I'm really scared. I don't feel like the Éponine Thenardier I thought I was. I'm no longer brave and cunning, I'm afraid and confused. I'm nothing without you. I denied it, but it's true. I'm not the same and, really, nothing will ever be the same.

Love Always,

Éponine


	5. May 18

May 18th

Dear Enjolras,

I know I haven't written in awhile. I've just been to distraught lately. I think I'm like this because our anniversary is in two days. I don't know why, but when I was buying Christmas gifts, I decided to get an anniversary present. It's a bunch of little things and I've been contemplating whether or not I should burn them. It hurts too much to look at the wrapped up box, but I don't want to let go either.

I've also been having outbursts of anger. Les Amis has started returning to their everyday lives and I feel like its too soon. They should grieve longer than me because they've known you longer. That sounds selfish but it's logic! I even yelled at them the other day.

"Come on Éponine. The only time you leave your home is to run errands," Courfeyrac complained, swinging my right arm like a pleading child.

"I told you guys already. It's too soon. I can't go back into the Musain yet,"

"Ép, it's been almost 5 month. You have to start to let go," Grantaire said. He leaned back on my couch with his eyes closed, feet on the coffee table and a cigarette between his fingers.

"Don't tell me to let go! Don't you ever tell me to do anything!" I lashed out at him causing his eyes to jolt open.

"Éponine, calm down," Combeferre said.

"No! I will not calm down! How can you guys already start to move on?!"

"Enjolras wouldn't want us to dwell on the past," Bossuet cut in. He was playing with the cat.

"How would you know what Enjolras would want?! Has he ever told you his struggles? Has he every told you how he thinks and feels?" I began blinking rapidly to hold back tears. I remembered when you told me all the things that pulled you down. I remembered when you thought you wouldn't get by. I remember comforting you while you were despondent.

"Éponine!" Combeferre shouted. This surprised me because he seldom shouted. "Just because you were his girlfriend doesn't mean you miss him anymore than I do. Anymore than any of us do! We all loved him, Éponine! We all wish he were alive today! But Bossuet is right. Enjolras wouldn't want us to dwell. He'd want us to go to the Musain and continue protesting,"

"I can't" I let out breathlessly. I couldn't hold back the tears, I'm sorry. "I can't do this. It's too soon. I can't accept the fact that he's gone. That he really is gone. And he's never coming back. I don't want to go into the cafe. I can't go. I'll lose myself in it all," I whispered to the floor.

Combeferre wrapped his arm around me. Followed by Feuilly. Then Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire, Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel and finally Grantaire.

After we dispersed, Joly said he wanted to talk to me alone.

"'Ponine, I know things are tough. It's tough for all of us. I know you probably don't know what to do. You probably feel lost and alone," Joly said.

"I do," I whispered.

"Well, I'm very close with one of the psychologists that works at the same hospital as I do. She can help you get through this confusion,"

"I'm fine without a psychologist,"

"Just go, 'Ponine. It'll do good,"

I was still skeptic. "What about the cost? I can barely get by as it is,"

"Don't worry. The psychologist and I are really close,"

I guess something made me trust Joly because I couldn't believe the words that came out of my mouth. "Fine, I'll go,"

"Thanks 'Ponine. You can start seeing her next week,"

I really hope that this psychologist helps.

Love Always,

Éponine

P.S. I never told you what I got you for our anniversary, did I? Well I got 5 things for the 5 years we would've spent together.

The first; A cd of our song plus the playlist we listened to during our first summer as a couple. We took a road trip around France. It was lovely, the deafening sound of the windows down on the highway, driving for drivings sake and just feeling free.

The second; Anchor cuff links that matched the earrings you gave me. We were going to a very classy event and I was nervous. I thought I would be out of place but when you gave me the earrings, I realized that you were making an effort to make me feel comfortable because anchors are a symbol of hope.

The third; A fleece blanket to keep us warm when we sit on your fire escape and wait for the sun to rise. I liked doing that with you. Yes, I would be tired the rest of the day, but I liked the silence. I liked having your arms around me and my head in the crook of your neck. I liked having time to ourselves. Just the two of us.

The fourth; two vintage forks, spoons and knives for our some what new Thursday breakfast tradition. I really liked this tradition that we started. I remember you telling me that you wanted to do this because of your grandparents. You used to try to wake up early as a child to eat breakfast with them on Thursdays. You loved your grandparents and you loved their love for each other. To be married for over 50 years is amazing. I wonder if you would want to be with me for over 50 years. I know I would with you.

And the fifth; an empty picture frame for the memories we would have made. But it's different now. There won't be anything to put in the frame because we won't make anymore memories ever again.


	6. May 22

A/N: I've only been to a therapy thing at school when I was younger and I honestly forgot everything about it. Basically, I haven't a clue what therapists say or do. Just my little warning to you :]

May 22nd

Dear Enjolras,

I just got back from my first day of therapy. My therapists name is Musichetta. And when Joly said they were "close" he meant like how you and I are close. Anyway, Musichetta is a superb girl and Joly seems wild about her.

"So, Éponine, tell me about your situation," Musichetta asked kindly.

"My boyfriend, Enjolras, was killed," I replied bluntly, taking a seat on the couch in her office.

"What happened?"

"He was shot,"

"What else happened?"

"Then he died,"

"Éponine, in order for me to help you, you need to open up to me. I won't judge and I won't tell Joly, Les Amis or anyone outside of this room. So tell me what happened the day of your boyfriends death,"

I sighed. I needed help but I just met this woman. How could I let a stranger into the deepest crevices of my mind? But something about Musichetta made me open my mouth.

"He was going to a protest. It wasn't the first protest and Enjolras knew they could get dangerous. People were crazy. Sometimes they'd bring crowbars or smoke bombs. But that didn't matter to me because I wanted to stay with Enjolras. He told me something the night before and I knew that I would never want to leave his side. So after a good 45 minutes of begging and pleading, he finally agreed to take me. I got to stand on top of the stares with all of Les Amis and watch him. He was so charismatic, it surprised me that people hadn't gone to do something to fix the problem. But then someone started calling him a hypocrite. That everyone here was a hypocrite. And then he said hypocrites deserve to die. He pulled out a gun and started firing into the air and randomly into the crowd. Most of Les Amis dove to the ground but I couldn't move. I stayed standing, shaking. Enjolras quickly shielded me with his body and began to whisper something. He promised me that everything would be okay. He promised me that this wasn't so bad and we'd go home and curl up on his fire escape. He told me he loved me. But before I could reciprocate, Enjolras fell to the floor,"

I kept my gaze on the floor. I thought I wasn't going to cry because I was too preoccupied telling my story. But my story was now over and I suddenly bursted into tears.

Enjolras! Enjolras! Oh god, oh god! Why is there so much blood? Someone, please! Help! Enjolras!

I began shaking violently from the memory of me holding your cold body. You truly felt like marble. I had just realized your last words to me.

"You promised! Enjolras, you fucking promised!" I sobbed as I repeatedly dug my fist into a pillow. "you promised,"

I quickly realized what I was doing and wiped my face. "I'm sorry,"

"No, don't be sorry. It's okay to cry and feel angry. It's only human," Musichetta reassured me. "If you don't mind, can you tell me a bit about your childhood?"

I didn't look at her for awhile. You know how shitty my life was. I didn't understand why talking about my past was going to help me get over you. I didn't want her to judge me. But she was being kind. She didn't repeat the question and sat patiently.

"I used to be happy," I slowly started. "My little sister, Azelma, and I used to be happy. My parents owned a bar and we were in between middle and upper class. My mama would buy Azelma and I pretty dresses and dolls. She practically spoiled us. But then a health inspector came and threatened to close us down if our building wasn't up to code. We spent thousands of dollars trying to save the bar but it was all for naught. My family was forced to move into a run down flat when I was 7 years old. My father became bitter and my mother became nasty. They eventually started beating me. I wouldn't let them touch Azelma. Even at such a young age, I knew I had to be strong for her. I had to be the one she looked up to. Even if it meant countless, brutal beatings. It was my responsibility to look after Azelma, as I was the oldest. A year later, my mama gave birth to my brother, Gavroche. My parents couldn't afford to feed their children and their alcoholism, so we were forced to live on the streets. My mama and papa scammed people while I pick pocketed others on the street. I would get a beating every time I didn't meet my papa's expectations. I would always keep a bit of the money I stole for myself. When I turned 17, I left home. I'm sure Azelma resents me a bit for leaving her behind. She was left alone with my parents because Gavroche also ran away at a young age. I enrolled him at a school when I turned 18, but he still runs wild. I still feel horrible every time I think about leaving Azelma but I had to get out,"

Musichetta wrote something down that I couldn't see. She told me that she was "assessing" me when she asked about my parents. I haven't a clue what that means but honestly, I'm too tired to care. A lot is riding on Musichetta. My sanity is in her hands. She better not let me down.

Love,

Éponine


	7. June 12

June 12th

Dear Enjolras,

It is currently 3:24 am and I have the inability to fall asleep. If you were here, I would yell at the ceiling, exclaiming I'm too tired to sleep. You would probably pull me in close and sleepily tell me that that's a paradox and all I need to do is close my eyes. I really can't sleep, though.

I've been going to Musichetta's office twice a week. She says it will eventually climax to four times a week and then slowly descend until I no longer need a therapist. Musichetta told me that, realistically, I would probably have to go to her office for at least a year because my parents were total dipshits(I'm paraphrasing) and I've grown up guarding myself behind walls. I wasn't angry when she said this. It's true and I'm glad she's not sugar coating it. The world is too damn twisted for anyone to sugar coat anything.

Did I mention I've been going through pictures of us? At first, I thought that looking at those pictures would be like drinking poison, but honestly, it's not so bad. What is bad is that I didn't remember your eyes being so blue which is strange because I've spent over five years swimming in them. I mean, I'm starting to worry that I'm letting too much go. I didn't remember your eyes being so blue and that scares me. I also have trouble remembering what your voice sounds like and I'm feeling guilty. I know that it's deep and can either be soothing or passionate but it takes me awhile to remember it exactly how it was when you would say my name. I want you to hold me and whisper my name into my hair.

I'm sitting in my kitchen, eating ice cream now. I know it's probably not the best idea to eat ice cream at 3:30 in the morning but screw logic! I think I deserve a few scoops and it's really hot in my room.

You know, I sometimes wonder what it would be like if I had a real dad. And by "real" I mean loving and caring. If I had a real dad, I probably wouldn't be so jacked up. And if I wasn't so jacked up, I would probably be more open with my emotions, like Marius or Cosette. Those two spew emotions everywhere. And if I were more open with my emotions, I would probably accept the fact that you're gone by now. So, I guess, in a weird chain of things, I blame the lack of a good dad for my inability to let go. Or maybe I'm just too tired to realize how illogical that is.

Screw logic. And my inabilities. I should probably try and sleep now. I'm getting delirious and if I reread this letter, it probably won't make sense.

Good night...or morning.

Love Always,

Éponine


	8. July 6

Jul 6th

Dear Enjolras,

I've started to get out more. I usually go buy a few cases of beer and sit on a street corner. I'll occasionally share a beer with a homeless man and he'll tell me his story. Sometimes they tell normal stories like how they lost their job and lost their home. A few are a tad bit stereotypical hobo, in a sense that alcoholism a drug addictions got the best of them. And once in awhile I'll get someone utterly crazy. One guy told me that if I didn't eat my broccoli, the aliens would take my home away and chew my toes. But when I do stay home, I watch TV with the cat. He stares at the screen so I think he really is watching. Or the cat is just stupid and can only look straight ahead.

I haven't been having outbursts of anger lately. Hopefully that means I'm getting better. I have, however, been wondering about the "what if" of it all. Like, what if I didn't go to the protest, or what if you didn't tell me those things the night before, or what if you didn't even want to protest at all, or what if I didn't say yes when you asked me out? I mean, you would probably still be alive and we'd be fine. If I didn't go to the protest, you wouldn't have had to protect me. If we didn't talk the night before, I probably wouldn't have wanted to leave your side. If you didn't want to protest, then you wouldn't have been at the Palais Bourbon where you got shot. And if I didn't say yes, we wouldn't have dated and none of this would be a problem. You'd be alive and we'd be secretly admiring each other from afar and that would be enough for me, knowing you won't be killed. But none of that happened and I, along with the rest of Les Amis, am stuck in a rut.

In my last letters, you can obviously tell I'm confused. I haven't a clue what I want to do with this situation. I want to accept, but it feels too soon. I also don't know how to accept. I also don't know how to deal with all this crap. I've seriously been thinking what if I give up beer. Crazy, right? I love beer! But, honestly, maybe if I give up beer, my thoughts will be cleared and I'll be able to get a grip. And once I get a grip, everything will make sense and I won't feel like I'm at cross roads. Yeah, I think I'll try giving up beer. It should do me good.

I still love you, you know. A couple months ago, I would've told you that I would love you for the rest of your life. But things are different now. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I won't love you for the rest of your life, I'll love you for the rest of mine.

Love Always,

Éponine


	9. July 23

July 23rd

Dear Enjolras,

It's my birthday! I woke up a bit sad today. I guess I'm just accustomed to waking up on my birthday with you next to me. Anyway, I urged myself to get over it. It's not like it's an important birthday, like my 18th or 50th, I'm just 23 today and the next 364. Les Amis are coming over for some drinks soon.

I got a letter from Zelma and Gav this afternoon, wishing me a happy birthday. In the letter, Zelma told me that she finally moved away from our parents and is engaged to a bourgeois man who is about about four years older than me. Gav, of course, has stopped going to school and has pursued many different careers to make ends meet. I wish they'd visit me sometimes. As you probably already know, it gets lonely. I mean, the cat is good company, but I don't really have anyone to talk to. Les Amis are usually busy with the protests and I feel queasy whenever the topic comes up. As for Musichetta, I feel a bit weird trying to talk to her as a friend. There's a line between friendship and doctor/patient.

Les Amis are here now. I'll finish this letter after they leave.

Love Always,

Éponine


	10. July 24

July 24th

Dear Enjolras,

Les Amis got really drunk last night and no doubt they'll all have hangovers when they wake up. They're all asleep in my apartment because I deemed them too drunk to walk back home. I made miso soup for them because I heard that it helps hangovers. I don't have a hangover because I gave up beer(but I never said anything about a few glasses of wine).

Courfeyrac is awake. He's watching me write. I can see you reading my writing, Courf! Now, go eat soup before I stab you with my pen. Okay, he's stopped. The poor thing has a headache, but its just a mild hangover. Wimp.

Anyway, last night the guys and I celebrated and it was probably the first time I've had genuine fun since you left. I admit it was strange and awkward but a few drinks in, we were as normal as things could get without you.

Courfeyrac and Jehan got me bouquets. Courf gave me typical roses, but Jehan knows me well and got me gladioli and orchids, which you know are my favorite. Combeferre gave me his copy of 'Of Mice and Men' which I thought was sweet because it was his own copy and not something fresh off the bookshelf of a bookstore. I also recommended it to him years ago. He wrote on the inside of the cover, thanking me for introducing such a wonderful book and other nice things. Joly gave me fancy soaps which made me laugh. As if fancy soaps cleaned any better than regular soap. Bossuet bought me a nice summer hat and Bahorel a bunch of solid colored v-neck t's which I am very thankful for. Feuilly made me a box of delicious paczki and gave me a cd of his favorite polish songs. And Grantaire got me boots. It's the middle of summer and the drunkard got me boots. It's okay though, because they're actually quite nice. They're not the wannabe-tough-but-actually-very-girly boots, they're freaking boots you use when you're in the freaking army! I don't know how the fuck he got them but they're mine now.

Did I mention Les Amis sang the national anthem for me instead of singing happy birthday? But in their defense they were utterly drunk and delusional. It was quite hilarious, actually. But I can imagine you throwing a fit about how they're disrespecting Patria, which honestly makes it even more hilarious.

I can hear someone(s) throwing up in the bathroom. I should probably set some glasses of water out on the table.

"Ponine!" I can hear Ferre whine for me. He's like a little brother who is older than me...does that make sense? Anyway he looks like a mess. His hair is sticking up in different direction and he has bags under his eyes.

I told him to eat some soup which he groggily obliges to. The rest of Les Amis look equally as terrible. I'm trying really hard not to snigger and but I'm hopelessly failing, so I've decided to move to the couch. Jehan followed me, along with the cat, but I don't mind. He's resting his head in my lap while he writes poetry and the cat is sitting on his stomach. In fact, Jehan tried to get me write some poetry. I did write some, but it's not very good. It doesn't rhyme and there's hardly any figurative language. But because I love you, here goes nothing.

Our Revolution. By Éponine Jonderette.

I had a dream we lead a revolution

We had our own protest song and everything

And when the cops came to arrest us, we continued to sing in jail

I had a dream we lead a revolution

We had our own protest for who knows what

But that doesn't really matter because I had a strong opinion

I had a dream we lead a revolution

We had our own protest in the city streets

Though someone went crazy and the crowds scattered, leaving me behind

It doesn't rhyme. In fact, it doesn't even sound like a poem. Just empty stanzas. Hell, they're probably not even stanzas. I think I'll just stick to write letters to the deceased.

You know, I'm kind of fond of Jehan. He can be sensitive, which I need, even if I won't admit it. But at the same time, he can be strong willed. He's like a little brother who's older than me. In fact all of Les Amis are my little older brothers! I love them all(platonically, of course) and they love me(in the same sense). I think you would like seeing your best friends and your girlfriend getting along well.

I'm glad I have Les Amis around to help.

Love Always,

Éponine


	11. July 31

July 31st

Dear Enjolras,

I need beer and I need it NOW! I am not kidding. It's been three weeks and wine isn't doing shit! I haven't been sleeping well and I'm really REALLY IRRITATED! I mean, I'm pissed at everything. I just want the world to be devoured by a black hole. Especially Grantaire.

"Hey 'Ponine!" R yelled from his spot on my couch.

"What?" I snapped.

R picked up a beer bottle and waved it around. "Are you sure you don't want a sip?"

"I'm sure," I said flatly.

"Really?"

"I said I'm damn sure, motherfucker!"

R started to snigger as he took a swig from his bottle.

"Get out," I demanded.

"What?"

"Get the fuck out, or I will drag you out,"

"Is it that time of the month, Ninny? Are you sleep deprived? Or are you just naturally a pain?" R took another swig after he finished chuckling.

"Shut the hell up and get the hell out of my house!"

"You can't kick me out, 'Ponine. You're too fragile to hurt anyone's feelings,"

Thats when I snapped. You can throw jokes around about my menstrual cycle or my bitchy attitude but you never, EVER call Éponine Jonderette "fragile". Unless you want to die a slow death.

I picked up whatever I could grasp and started throwing stuff at R. I threw a lamp, then a vase holding flowers from Courfeyrac and finally a picture frame. When I realized what was in the picture frame, I ran over to the pile and sifted through the rubble.

"Why is it you're always breaking things when I'm here?" R smirked but I ignored his comment.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," I whispered as I pulled out the photo that was in the projectile frame. There were shards stuck in the polaroid and the picture was beyond repair. It was a picture of you and I. We were about to go to a rock concert. We were dating for almost a year. We looked so happy.

"Ép, you're crying," R said slowly.

He was right. I looked at my hand. It was bloody from the glass shards but I'm sure that wasn't why I was crying. I wanted to be happy again. I wanted to be happy with you again. Happiness isn't truly happy without you and I'm starting to lose myself in all of this. But I can't start doing that again. I have to realize what I'm doing and what I'm going to do. I need to swallow the pain down. It's time that I started acting like the Éponine Jonderette I was before I admitted being in love with you. I know it sounds stupid, but I need to start rebuilding my walls. It'll be easier for all of us if I pretend like I'm fine.

You have to be brave in order to pretend to be fine. It's an art, really. The Art of Intrepidacism. I know that's not a word but it's idiomatic. Intrepid means fearless. Intrepidacious...isn't a word. But if it was, it would mean being fearless. And Intrepidacism is the belief of being fearless. And if you believe you're fearless, then you become fearless. It's my philosophy, mantra, whatever you want to call it. I know if you were alive, you would try to stop me from what I'm going to become. But you're not alive.

Love Always,

Éponine

A/N: Intrepidacism(in-TREH-pi-DAY-shi-zm)


	12. September 17

September 17th

Dear Enjolras,

It's been awhile, huh? I guess you wouldn't know. You're dead. I'm better...on the outside. I only have to go to Musichetta's office three times a week again. She thinks that I have progressed quickly and at this rate, I can stop going to her office by the end of November. I really am better, really.

So I gave up giving up beer. It seemed insensible to give up beer if it was only going to make things harder on me. I had to get stitches because of that decision! And the picture was beyond repair. And I just really needed beer.

I've finally seen Zelma and Gav at Zelma's wedding last week. Zelma's engagement was quite short but I guess she just couldn't wait to get married. Zelma looked like a beautiful young lady and I almost cried. Gav looked very handsome and cleaned up very nicely. You'd be proud. Gav said he'd visit more often, which is a bit nice. Les Amis hardly visit save Ferre, Courf and Jehan. I think the others are a bit scared of me. Especially R. Well, Ferre and Courf usual fight over the tv remote while Jehan and I write. I've been writing short stories to easy my mind. I've written something about a girl being, along with others, locked up for an unknown reason and then a new guy shows up and the guy and girl escape and lead a revolution. I've also written something about a girl who stabs herself with a fork because being alone in love hurts too much. It's almost Shakespearean.

Anyway, Zelma told me that she and her new husband are leaving for England in December, after their honeymoon. It's nice to know she's doing something that makes her happy. I wonder if she's still mad about me leaving her behind when we were teens or if the smile she had on when she was with me was truly genuine. I hope it was genuine.

I'm fine. Did I write that already? Well, I am. Even though I've started burning my arms with my cigarettes to remind me that I'm still part of the world, I'm fine. Even though I have to get myself really drunk on Wednesday nights so my hangovers make me forget about Thursday breakfasts, I'm fine. Even though on the inside I feel like shit, I'm fine. The guys think I'm fine, Zelma and Gav think I'm fine and Musichetta thinks I'm...better than I was, so who's to tell me that I'm not fine? My little barricade is up and I'm Éponine Thenardier again. Thenardier sounds weird as my last name again but that's who I am, minus the drug addiction and crappy, abusive boyfriend. So don't worry. I've convinced the world that I'm fine.

Love Always,

Éponine


	13. October 1

October 1st

Dear Enjolras,

This is my suicide note. I've been mulling it over for awhile and I think the easiest way to let go of you is to let go of everything. I guess it started a few days after my last letter. I started having hallucinations and I kept seeing you. You were telling me to come with you. I wasn't going to do it at first because I knew that they were just hallucinations, but it began to hurt so much seeing you again. I can stay strong during a lot of situations, but this is uncharted territory. How am I supposed to keep myself from going insane? Fuck it, I'm already insane and it's killing me. I'm falling the fuck apart and I'm so lost. I can't do this anymore!

I'm also indirectly addressing Les Amis, now. I know I seem insincere for not addressing you guys in your own letters, but that would take too long. I just want to get over with it. I guess this is also my will. For Combeferre I leave my extensive book collection. Thanks for visiting often. It was nice having someone towards the end. Same with you, Courf. You can have some of my jewelry. You can give it to that special girl that you want to settle down with, if you ever find one. That was a joke so feel free to laugh. Guys, I know you're probably really sad as you read this, staring at my lifeless body, but hopefully I'm happy in the afterlife. For Jehan, my journal full of letters and short stories. You can also have the cat and you can name him. You're such a lovely young man, Jehan. You're very sweet and I hope you'll find a girl that will write music for your poetry and together the two of you will write beautiful, meaningful songs. For Feuilly, you can have the cd of polish music back, even though you probably have all those songs already. After my funeral, take a trip to Poland and relax, for my sake. For Joly, one fourth of my money. You can use it to help pay off your student loans. And honey, the world is full of germs. Yes, it's nice to be cautious but getting sick is inevitable. For Bossuet, my lucky emerald ring. It was the first thing I've stolen that wasn't out of a pocket. I used to wear it when I would go stealing and I rarely got caught. I also wore it when I met Enjolras, so maybe it will bring you luck as well. And Grantaire. I'm sorry for always blowing up in your face. I know you were just trying to help. You can have my stash of liquor I keep in an ice box in my attic. The key to the attic is taped under my nightstand. For Gav, 1/2 of my money. Spend it wise, kiddo. I'm sorry for leaving you behind. I care about you so so much but I just couldn't handle everything at once. I love you. For Zelma 1/4 of my money. Take care of your new husband and I hope he makes you really happy. If he doesn't, I'll come back from the dead and haunt him. I'm sorry for leaving you when we were younger and I'm sorry for leaving you again. I wish I could have been a better big sister.

I guess this is my goodbye. Take care everyone and once again, I truly am sorry.

I'll see you soon, Enj.

Love Always,

Éponine

**A/N: what's gonna happen to Éponine?! D: I guess you'll have to wait and see ;]**


	14. October 5

October 5th

Dear Enjolras,

I'm in a hospital. I woke up yesterday. I drank a few bottles of beer before trying to slash my wrists. I cut my wrist the wrong way and I guess I yelled pretty loudly and the neighbors heard. They found me passed out on the kitchen floor surrounded in a pool of blood. Les Amis apparently stayed by my side for as long as the nurses and doctors allowed. And of course, when I woke up, they scolded me.

"God, 'Ponine, what the hell were you thinking?" R yelled.

"Calm down, R. She just woke up," Combeferre said.

"No, I want an answer. What the hell were you trying to do?"

"Why the fuck do you care? I haven't seen you in two months," I glared, still groggy. "You don't deserve an answer, you drunk bastard,"

"Well everyone else here deserves an answer," Courfeyrac interjected. "Please, Ép. What am I supposed to tell Gav? His sister was willing to give up her life just for the hell of it?"

I chewed my lip. He was right, they deserved an answer. But I still didn't know what to say.

"I-I," I began to stutter. My voice was shaky and I needed to grab onto the closest thing, which happened to be Jehan's knee. "I d-don't know a-anymore,"

I hated this. I sounded like I was about to burst into tears and they all looked at me like I was helpless.

"Éponine, is this because of Enjolras?" Combeferre gently inquired.

"Yes," I replied exhaustedly. "I'm just so tired. I'm tired of waiting for everything to be okay again. I'm tired of pretending that I'm fine,"

"You can always tell someone about how you're feeling. You can tell us or Musichetta. We're always there for you, 'Ponine,"

"It's not that easy. I've grown up practically relying on myself only. I just can't spill the beans on my feelings. But at the same time, I've gotten so used to being open with Enjolras that it's hard to keep everything inside. And all of this has made me...tired,"

I could still feel their eyes on me. They were silently unsatisfied with my answer on why I wanted to take my life. Honestly, I'm not too certain about why I did it in the first place.

"'Ponine?" Jehan interrupted my thoughts. "You said you were tired of waiting for everything to be okay again,"

"And?" I had a quizzical look on my face. Leave it to Jehan to speak in riddles.

"What did you mean by 'okay again'?"

What did I mean? What did I want the world to give me? Did I even want the world to give me anything? And then, in the back of my mind, the horrid answer came back to me. The terrifying answer pounded in my head and I couldn't contain it anymore.

"I want Enjolras," I bursted into tears. "Enjolras, please. Please come back. I miss you so much. I want you to love me again. Please," I couldn't stop crying. "I just want to be with you again,"

"Éponine, stop," Grantaire said sternly. "Look, you can't be with him again. You have other important things to do. You can't stay hung up on Enjolras forever,"

"How can you say that!" I yelled in between sobs. "I love him!"

"You have to move on. The rest of us are trying to move on, but it's getting really tough with you bringing him up. Do you know how often you mumbled his name in your sleep? Courf, Ferre and Jehan hear it when you fall asleep while they're over at your place. Don't you understand how hard it is for us?"

"I need time! I can't pretend to be fine! That's the reason why I'm in here anyway! And I'm sure that you can't speak for the rest of the group. You're probably the only one who's over sensitive. Right guys?" I looked at the lot of them. Some of them were looking at the floor while some looked at each other, hoping for the correct answer. "You guys all feel that way?"

There was a collective mumble of agreement.

"Then why the fuck are you here?" I wiped my tears before I got up and dragged the stand holding bags attached to the tubes in my body.

"Éponine!"

"Wait!"

"You can't just leave!"

"Nurse! Nurse!"

This was some fucked up shit going on. Who the hell did R think he was? Fucking bastard. And to hell with the rest of them. How can they tell me I can rely on them and then change they're fucking mind? I'm feeling so lost. I just wish I was with you again.

Love Always,

Éponine


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: sorry for the delay. I've had tons of homework lately and the enjonine hate was getting to me. But I'm back, baby :] btw, this chapter might not make any sense at all. It's kind of a filler because I haven't written in awhile and I don't want to keep you waiting.

October 21st

Dear Enjolras,

Happy birthday! You would have been twenty five today. I lit a candle for you and stayed home by myself(I was dispatched from the hospital a week ago). At first, I was a bit scared that I might do something crazy again, but it's almost 11pm and I've been fine. I haven't seen any of Les Amis in awhile but I'm not lonely. I have the cat. But every once and awhile, I like to walk in the loud bustle that is downtown Paris. I'm not pick pocketing or anything, but I feel a bit of adrenaline trying to go unnoticed by the crowd. It makes me feel whole again.

I ran into Montparnasse the other day. He looks like he's still seventeen. Told me that my pa went to America. The lousy con artist must love taking advantage of tourists so much, he wanted to go to a country full of them. Well, at least I can breathe easier, knowing that he won't bother Gav or Zelma. I think you would be glad, too. Anyway, Monty also told me that he's going back to school. Now that my pa is gone, the poor boy doesn't have to be pressured into the life of a conman. I'm a bit jealous, actually. Monty wants to achieve something in life. I'm just sitting here waiting for things to blow over. I kind of want to go back to school but I haven't the money nor the emotional stability. I haven't the time nor a plan. I wish you were here. You could help me through all of this.

I'm really tired. Not just from sleep deprivation but from post-traumatic-stress. I mean, I love you truly, but what's the point in writing to you? I mean, you're not reading these letters. I want to stop writing. I want to burn this letter along with the rest of them. But something keeps compelling me to continue. I'm so confused.

Love Always,

Éponine


	16. November 15

November 15th

Dear Enjolras,

Les Amis and I are friends again. I ran into the lot of them at a bar and they apologized to me. I can't remember much because we celebrated our reunion with a lot of alcohol. But it's nice having them back. As much as I hate to admit it, I didn't like being alone. In fact we kinda decided that Christmas would be at my place. I was a bit worried about it at first because my house is a mess, but Jehan, Combeferre and Courfeyrac volunteered to help clean up.

I've been fine lately. Honestly. I know that I've been bipolar in the past months, but what do you expect. But sometimes, when I remember the day you died, I feel like I'm about to throw up. I feel like someone pulled me underwater and I'm trying to breathe. And then, something knocks me back into reality...and then I'm fine. It's strange, really. Absolutely peculiar. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Maybe it's just me letting you know that I still care, even though I'm trying to move on. It's a bizarre thought process, I know.

I like to imagine what I kind of couple we'd be today. Would we still be the same or completely different? I'm actually a bit glad that I don't know the answer, because I'm scared of the reality. If we were still the same, then that means we'll eventually go down hill. But if we're completely different, who knows if its a good different. I guess the world is keeping me guessing.

I want another beer.

Oh, did I tell you that Zelma is having a baby? I know, I was just as surprised as you are...erm...would be. I just hope that Zelma learned from our parent how NOT to raise a child. If Zelma is anything like my ma and pa, that poor child is screwed. Do you think we would have children? Maybe eventually but I don't think I'm ready to raise a baby. I might babysit for my sister, but I don't think I could raise a child. Children are so...childlike.

Anyway, I would like a few more beers and I'm a bit scared that this letter will grow strange. So I will leave you at that.

Love Always,

Éponine


	17. December 20

A/N: my lovely readers, it seems we're coming to an end. There will be an epilogue chapter after this.

December 20th

Dear Enjolras,

What the hell? What the motherfucking hell? Goddammit I thought I was going to be fine. I thought I was finally over you until yesterday, when Les Amis came over and cleaned out my house for the holidays. Joly, who of course wants everything spotless, found a note taped to the bottom of my nightstand. Why on earth would you leave a note taped underneath nightstand?! It's been almost a year and I'm only now finding the last thing you've ever written me?! And in case you're spirit has forgotten what I'm talking about, I'll rewrite it:

28th of January

Dearest Éponine,

My goodness, you look so beautiful right now. I should probably write this quickly before you wake up from the light of the reading lamp. I'm sure you're surprised by the things I just told you. Yes, my father abandoned my mother and I when I was only four. Yes, it was because he was having an affair. And yes, I have two younger half siblings who have no clue about my fathers past wives, let alone his offsprings. These events are probably why the reason I've never loved someone. Until you. Yes, I meant every word I said last night. I know my past seems a bit shitty as well but we can be the band-aids for each others wounds(God, did I just write that?). I love you, Éponine. I love you and you mean the world to me. Maybe, in the not too distant future, we can run away to the UK or something and get married. This isn't my proposal. I'll wait til I get a proper ring and a nice bouquet of orchids and gladioli. So I won't say anymore on the subject until I actually propose ;]. Anyway, I love you My Ponine.

-Enjolras

You wanted to marry me. You wrote something so unenjolrassy and so cheesy because you wanted to marry me. Goddammit, I feel worse. I've ruined our lives. We could have been a happy family. We could've had a few kids as well. We could have been each others band-aid(whatever the hell that means). We could've been so much more than a poor girl writing to her boyfriend's spirit.

I'm just sad that I didn't find this sooner. Like the morning of the riot. We could've left for the UK Or Something. We could've been okay. But we're not. I'm not.

Love Always,

Éponine


	18. Epilogue: January 29

January 29th

Dear Enjolras,

I've made it through the first year. I actually did it. I'm at your grave right now for the very first time. At your funeral, I couldn't bear to watch them put you six feet underground, so I stayed in the car.

I've brought an orchid, a Polaroid and my anniversary gifts for you. I set the orchid by your grave, wrapped myself in the fleece blanket, played our song(toothpaste kisses by the Maccabees), ate with the vintage silverware, took a picture of us with the Polaroid and put it into the picture frame. I've finally found a new memory for the old thing. It's not the happiest memory, but seeing what's happened lately, it's an important one. I'm finally coming to terms with your death.

The snow is still on the ground and a bit is falling from the sky. It's tragically beautiful, like yourself, which is kind of befitting. I know you would be mad that I'm sitting out in the snow, but a week with the fever may suck, but will not kill me. I really do miss your over-protectiveness, though.

Hell, I miss everything about you. This past year has been an emotional roller coaster of whether or not I should move on. But I realize that some people tend to dwell, while others try to forget. I will do neither. I will always remember you and I will always love you, but I will continue on with my life.

I realized that I'm crying. In fact, this probably the most I've ever cried. I really just want your arms around me one last time. I can't believe that it's been a year since you've last held me. Since you've last held anyone, actually.

I think I'll visit your grave more often. I'm not going to deny your death but I'll never forget you because you're honestly the greatest thing that's happened to me.

So with that, I'll stop writing and just enjoy the silence between us as I wait for the sun to set. Rest in peace, baby.

Love Always,

Éponine


End file.
